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December 7, 2020
Dec 25: I imagine myself in a cabin on a snowy mountain. My husband is outside, checking the mailbox, waiting for word from his parents. Our Christmas tree is sparse, under it are wooden mushrooms that my cousin gave me for my birthday last year, because she knew I liked anything to do with elves and dwarves and fairies and whimsy. Our cabin is simple, brown, warm. I look around at how this house had kept us safe throughout this strange year, and my eyes tear up with the gratefulness I feel so greatly. My husband comes in, I'm happy.